


Destination Unknown

by joufancyhuh



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: M/M, Nexus Uprising references, Pre-Pathfinder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 23:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16252217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joufancyhuh/pseuds/joufancyhuh
Summary: Days after the Nexus Uprising and stuck on a ship headed to nowhere, Bain befriends the pilot.





	Destination Unknown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DestinyMass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestinyMass/gifts).



> Thank you to BardofHeartDive for being my soundboard and beta, even if she doesn't know MEA. 
> 
> I adore these two to pieces, but have barely written anything for them since their backstory seemed covered by another writer. But I'm really digging what I created here and might continue on to write more of this version of them. I REALLY like how Bain turned out. 
> 
> Sorry to my recipient if you haven't read Nexus Uprising. Hopefully this will still make enough sense!

Five days and counting since they left the Nexus. 

 

Bain occupies the copilot chair, tuning out the chatty pilot while watching the stars stream past the window. Since boarding the flight to nowhere, he exercises this skill of his often, ignoring the fear and uncertainty spreading through the crammed ship. It’s all he can do to keep his sanity. 

 

His omni-tool says that it’s night back in the Milky Way; he never set it to Andromeda time, though the Nexus seemed to run off of the Citadel clock, too. What little it operated before shoving half its crew into these shoddy shuttles and chucking them out into space. The waiting, it’s almost worse than death. At least death has an ending. 

 

Bain likes stability, certainty. He likes knowing his place in the system. This  _ sitting idle _ shit rubs at him, makes him ansty. It’s why he keeps to his late hours, to stay away from the bulk of the crew and the panic they carry inside themselves. 

 

The nighttime pilot, while never knowing when to shut up, does a fine job of masking any concerns he has about this venture of theirs. It sets Bain at ease, what little he can afford, and he offers the man the same gratitude. Bain is nothing if not a calm mask of the anxiety welling inside him. 

 

Reyes. The pilot said his name was Reyes. 

 

Bain leans back in his chair, shutting his eyes and listening to the purr of the engines. The cockpit does well to drown out any noise in the hold. Licking his lips, he imagines it’s one of those nights after a long assignment and there he is in the nice, comfortable apartment that he gave up to come to this wasteland. There’s a cold drink in his hand that he swirls before taking a sip, the sound of ice cubes clinking against the glass, beads of condensation dampening his skin. Out loud, he sighs. “Fuck, a drink would be so good right now.”

 

Reyes shuts up from his chair, his ramblings broken off by the sound of Bain’s voice. After a short pause, long for the Latino man who never quieted more than a few seconds at a time, Reyes speaks up. “What’s your poison?” 

 

“Scotch. You?”

 

“Any kind of whiskey, though right now I think I’d take whatever I can get my hands on, you know?”

 

Bain opens his eyes, chuckling, as he glances at Reyes’ profile. “Yeah, I know. All too fucking well.” The words,  _ I can’t believe I left the bloody Milky Way for this, _ die in the back of his throat. That would break the sanctity of the cockpit, their long nights together avoiding that topic of what they face now.

 

Reyes tosses him a quick glance, a sly grin on his face. As a once-bounty hunter, Bain recognizes the signs for trouble when he spots them and the look the other man gives is all too familiar. The pilot presses a few buttons then stands, arching his back as he stretches his arms toward the ceiling. “You know how to fly, don’t you? Take over while I grab something from the back.” 

 

Before Bain can open his mouth to protest, Reyes disappears into the cargo, leaving Bain alone with the controls. Good thing that Bain did, in fact, know how to fly. Not that a chance exists for the ship to hit something.  _ Destination Unknown on the SS Dead Space. _ The laugh that follows from his private joke comes forced, and guilt blossoms in his chest. Maybe he shouldn’t joke like that, instead try to have hope like some of the others.

 

But as ex-security for the Nexus, he heard about the scout ships, what came back and what didn’t. Andromeda: a whole fuck-ton of nothing. But staying in the Milky Way wasn’t an option, not when he received that cryptic message from his absentee father:  _ Know I been a goddamn shitty dad. Heard about the Andromeda Initiative. You should go. Bad fucking shit is headed this way.  _

 

When he sent a response asking for clarification, he got no reply.

 

Reyes returns, the clear outline of a bottle stuffed under his shirt. He makes an elaborate display of pulling it out, along with the two crystal rocks glasses he holds in one hand. “Ask and you shall receive, my friend.” He plops down into a chair and unscrews the bottle, pouring a generous shot into both glasses before holding one out in Bain’s direction. 

 

Bain takes it with appreciation while Reyes sets the bottle on the floor between their two chairs. “We should make a toast.” Raising his glass, Bain expects something cheesy, like  _ to Andromeda _ or  _ to having hope _ . But as Reyes brings his up, he says, “Here’s to taking our pleasures where we can get them.” And sure, it’s corny, but Bain can’t help the smile that forms as he clinks the glass and brings it to his lips. 

 

The scotch burns going down, but it’s scotch even if it’s cheap. Bain fends off asking Reyes where he found it or what he had to do or trade to acquire it. He admires the gesture, though it doesn’t come without Bain’s hunter senses kicking in. The type of people he used to deal with, they always wanted something from him. No generosity came without a favor riding its coattails. So that begs the question, what does his new friend desire from him? What does he stand to gain from Bain’s good graces?

 

Reyes, almost as if reading Bain’s mind, cuts in. “No catch. Just two handsome gentlemen, enjoying each other’s company.”

 

_ Ah _ . A light goes on inside of Bain’s head. He snorts before taking another sip of his scotch, giving him pause to roll the idea of the two of them around in his mind. He’s not opposed to the notion, which is a good sign, though the other man’s talkative nature puts him off. There are ways around that though. Still, Bain can’t resist a good ribbing. “Your seduction game needs work.”

 

Reyes chuckles while raising his own glass to his lips, using it to hide his grin. “It  _ has  _ been 600 years. Forgive me if I’m a little rusty.”

 

Bain rolls his eyes, It helps that Reyes is cute and that Bain searches for something familiar to connect with. Sex, he knows sex. It can be something to help take his mind off of the vastness of this new galaxy, how every night he stares out there and sees both possibility and the end. Might as well go out with a bang. He reaches to place his glass on the lip of the control panel. “If you wanted to fuck, shoulda just said something.”

 

“Where’s the fun in that,” comes the reply. But there is a gleam of light in his eyes like the whiskey in his glass, a gleam that says it’s not just a fuck for him but a life-raft. Concrete and real, someone to hold onto while the big nothing continues on for them. It’s a way for Reyes to stop feeling alone in this madness. 

 

Something stirs inside Bain. He blames it on the whiskey, but he barely drank enough for it to affect him. That connection that Reyes desperately craves as he stares at Bain over his glass of cheap scotch, Bain thinks he might need it, too. Why else come sit with Reyes every night, half-listening to the man prattle on? All he needed to do was tell him to shut up, but Bain never did that.

 

It’s not hope, not anywhere near it, but it’s a feeling that when he dies in this bloody sardine can, it won’t be alone. 

 

“Come here,” Bain demands, leaning back into his copilot’s seat. Reyes stands then bends, sitting his own glass down on the floor next to the bottle. Bain’s hand reaches out, taking Reyes’ own and tugging him toward the chair. His skin feels calloused, the placement of them similar to Bain’s own from working with his weapons. A bad idea  _ -what does he really know about this Reyes-  _ but then warm lips slide over his and any reservations leave his thoughts as knees hook on the outside of his thighs. 

  
_ Taking pleasures where he can get them _ . There is a casualness to undressing, a hunger in the kiss but no hurry to it. Bain pauses only to lock the door. 

**Author's Note:**

> [My other Baeyes fic.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13891806)


End file.
